Happy Barricade Day 2010
by Emilie Rose
Summary: Eponine reflects on her undying love for Monsiuer Marius as she herself takes her final breaths. Sad and sincere. In honor of June 6, 1832.


**Happy Barricade Day to all! Here is my offering for this year.**

**This is a gift to all readers who are not fans of Enjolras/Grantaire slash. (You know who you are… monsieur.) Slightly different than my normal **_**Les Miserables**_** writing, but I had fun with it.**

**So enjoy the day with absinthe and cheering, wear your tricolor proudly, and hold your favorite revolutionary close to your heart!**

**PS. Of course, these characters and the quoted material that pass between them are the property of the great Victor Hugo, an inspiration to us all!**

Bonjour, M'sieur Marius. I have a letter for you. I'm here to deliver it, M'sieur, for I'm a good girl, loyal to her friends. I know you want this letter, and I'll do anything to please you.

But a wicked part of me just wants to keep this cursed roll of paper in my pocket. She's not here now, M'sieur; she's worlds away from this wild ruckus. It's just you and me here. Just you and me and a hundred muskets about to fire.

The people are going to fight. Screaming slogans, bodies in the gutters. Don't they know that no one cares? That handsome blonde man was speaking before, going off about rights and duty. What does a rich student like him know about anything of the sort? We understand, M'sieur. You learned it when you lived beside me- oh, why did you move away? A man's only duty is to his empty belly; he has to feed it or he'll be put to death. Duty to country, golden boy? My country is a dirty alley. There, I am queen, and unsuspecting boys like you lose their purses to my greatness.

Nevermind, M'sieur Marius. His foolishness is meaningless to us. All that matters is that we're together now. And I won't give you that letter. And you'll die here without a thought of her in your mind. We'll die together, finally escaping this nightmare called life.

You don't love her, not really. Of course, she's beautiful, but what's behind the beauty? Nothing but perfumed air and feathers. How can she understand the suffering you have endured? What would she say if she saw how far I had fallen?

Oh, why must it be the Lark? I recognized her when she gave me this damned letter. Thankfully, she didn't look beyond my man's clothing; I would be so ashamed to have that brat see me like this. When she saw me last, we had money, M'sieur. I wasn't always the filthy wretch you send on errands. I used to have pretty dresses, even more lovely than what the Lark wears now. Her whore mother dumped her on our doorstep and my parents kept her out of the goodness of their hearts.

Or at least that's what they told me. There's likely more to the story, for I seriously doubt my father has a heart at all. But why she was there doesn't matter. The point is that now someone's done her up like a pretty porcelain doll and you think you're in love. But you can't be in love with someone who's not real.

She says she loves you. Does she know you can barely afford to feed yourself? Does she care that you are willing to fight for the noble but hopeless cause of this barricade?

And what do you love about her aside from her looks? You know, I could've been pretty. If I wasn't so awfully skinny, with all my bones sticking out. And if I had some decent clothes instead of these rags. Y'know, M'sieur, things that made me look like a lady. If my teeth weren't broken and crooked. If I cleaned my hair and did it up nicely… Would you love me if I had all those pretty things, Monsieur Marius Pontmercy?

I know a lot about the world. I could take care of you, you know. Get you food, clean the house, deliver your letters, anything you asked of me. I've always done everything you asked, M'sieur. But that's what you expect of me, isn't it? Poor 'Ponine, the resident servant. Have you ever thought of me as a young woman, with feelings and a heart bursting with love for you?

It doesn't matter what you thought anyways. Because soon, you'll know. Soon you and I will be together in heaven and she'll be here on earth, happily cavorting with the next handsome young man she meets. We'll be happy then, M'sieur, as they pile up our bodies with all the rest. Because no one is getting out of here alive. That's why I came. To be with you, die with you.

We are both going to die. Nothing I or anyone else can attempt will stop that now. Then what should it matter who is struck down first?

I don't know why I did it. I didn't even think. I only saw you and that awful metal barrel pointed at your noble breast. I barely felt my hand shatter.

There was no pain as I watched you stand on the barricade, your perfect features lit by the torch, exposing you before your comrades and your enemies alike, showing the avenging angel that rages within your all too human body. I was glad I'd saved you, and glad that you saved everyone else.

But then you were gone and everything went dark. The street was cold. I was in such pain! Why did the wounds only hurt after you left?

How long did you sit inside with your friends as I bled for you on the rough cobblestones? I didn't care very much. Sometimes, you even walked past a lighted window and I could make out your profile. It would've been nice if you'd stayed with me, but I doubt you even saw me.

Why did you leave them? Were you going to check on other fighters? Or looking at the stars and thinking of her? Or searching for a friend who was waiting out here for you?

I know you hadn't come for me, but you passed so close to me I couldn't help but cry out. "Monsieur Marius!"

I think I startled you. I am sorry for that, M'sieur. But you stopped, so very close to me! I called again and struggled toward you; the pain had grown much worse.

You did not see me in the shadows. You turned to go. "At your feet!" Yes, M'sieur, I was at your feet, where I would gladly have spent the rest of my life.

My disguise was quite effective, or perhaps my appearance is simply so far removed from the woman I could have been. You did not know me.

I told you my name, but the sound felt like a curse on my lips. "Eponine." Daughter of a criminal, whore to his partners in crime. When you speak the word, I am not ashamed. "Eponine." A good friend. A girl worthy of notice. Perhaps… a companion?

You were suddenly very close beside me. I listened to your voice without really hearing, but I know all the words were kind; I believe you were talking of a physician? You are my doctor, Monsieur Marius Pontmercy. You pour life into in my blood and you are the only one who can heal my wounds.

I showed you my wounds and you flinched away. Was that guilt I saw in your eyes? You mustn't blame yourself for what I did. Soon, you will lie beside me and the few hours cooling in the gutter I got before you will be meaningless.

What was I thinking, to ask you to sit beside me as I faded? To lay my bloody head in your lap? But you obeyed! You even draped an arm around me as I babbled on about our death and how nothing else has ever mattered. Nothing but this beautiful night on the broken streets of Paris.

The pain came back, worse than ever, but I stopped feeling it as your fingers stroked back my mud-soaked hair. You were trembling.

I told you of my brother, that brave little boy singing in the face of his own death. I was happy, happier than I'd ever been before. I gave you the letter.

Perhaps it will please you as you draw your last breath, to know that you are so immensely loved on earth as well as in our next destination. I would like to know that I've pleased you.

You always said that you'd give me anything for my services. And I would never take your money. I wanted so badly to hear you promise. _Yes, Eponine, I'll give you the sun and the moon if you asked. I'll give you a garden finer than the Lark's, with flowering trees and apples that you can eat off the branches when you're hungry._

"I promise you." You said it!

"Promise to kiss me on the forehead when I'm dead. I'll feel it."

It was over. The pain was gone, leaving nothing but coldness except the parts of my skin that still burned from your touch. You knew how I have loved you; in that moment, I'm sure you knew. But I wanted to say it.

I opened my eyes for the last time. Did you think I was already dead?

"And then, do you know, Monsieur Marius, I believe I was a little in love with you."

I felt the pressure of your perfect lips on my empty skin as I floated away from you. Parting should have saddened me; it always has before. But tonight it's alright, M'sieur, for this is only a brief farewell. You'll be with me soon and then, forever. Nothing can hurt me now, not even the rain. I am waiting, Monsieur…

**Well, there you have it. Hope you enjoyed. Please review as a Barricade Day gift to me!**


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